


steady, as she goes

by kissteethstainred



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5x06, Episode Related, Father-Son Relationship, Jumping on the 5x06 Train Really Late, Mickey Centric - sorta, Other, idk man, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Svetlana shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand. She leans an arm against the couch. “You care about Ian first,” she says like an accusation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	steady, as she goes

**Author's Note:**

> I was talking to Brianna (mickeymillkovch on tumblr) and we were talking about 4x11 and I started to get emotional over "HE GIVES IT TO ME GOOD AND HARD AND I FUCKING LIKE IT" so . . . I wrote a Mickey fic from 5x06. Totally makes sense to me. 
> 
> This fic isn't focused much on Ian/Mickey and is mostly about Mickey/Svetlana/Yevgeny. 
> 
> come talk to me! i'm found at carlgallahgrs.tumblr.com :) 
> 
> I wrote this in like an hour, and I edited it about once, so: any mistakes are my own.

Svetlana’s pacing is driving Mickey up the wall. She’s always in his line of sight, too—if Mickey moves into another room, Svetlana follows, giving him murderous looks. After a while, it flips: Mickey begins following her around the house when she starts looking in odd places. “What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey asks, watching her look under the couch cushions.

Svetlana turns to him, hands angry on her hips. “Where the fuck do you put phone?” she snarls at him.

“No fucking way,” Mickey says, moving forward. He’d hidden the phones when Svetlana had angrily ranted in her room while changing. There is no way she is going to find them. “You’re not calling the cops. For the last fucking time—”

“You let me call fucking cops!” she yells, moving towards him quickly. She isn’t afraid to get right in his face, and it reminds him of another time she’d yelled at him, only in a different house. “That is—Yevgeny is son! _My_ fucking son!”

Mickey clenches his fists by his sides. “You can’t, or Ian—”

Svetlana pushes Mickey in the chest, hard, spinning away from him and cursing so loudly in Russian Mickey instinctively glances to Yevgeny’s crib in the living room. He’s not there, of course, and Mickey can feel the slide of panic coming over him again.

“All _this_ and _that_ about orange boy,” Svetlana spits, back to Mickey. She turns around suddenly, tears bright in her eyes. “You think you were only one who hated baby?” she spits, her words so unexpected Mickey takes a step back. “You think you were only one who dealt with shit?” Her lips curl cruelly, almost looking like snarl. “I fucking hated that monster. Hated it. I had that—that _thing_ —growing inside me, and it was disgusting and vile and _I hated it_!” She stalks towards Mickey a little more. “I could not be coward like you. I could not run away to paradise with boyfriend and ignore responsibilities. It was inside me, it was growing. I had it attached to me! I could not run away! I had to deal, like you never could!” She’s stopped looking angry, looks desperate now, hands pressed against her collarbone, voice shaking in it’s fear. “I was disgusted. Have baby and marry you?” Svetlana gives a wobbly laugh. “Fuck. Fuck! Everything was shit. Everything.”

Nothing about this makes sense to Mickey because Svetlana had always been devoted—she’d always loved Yevgeny, and now—Mickey swallows, trying to maintain some semblance of sanity.

“It was only until hospital that it changed,” Svetlana says, looking at Mickey but eyes unfocused. “That shit cried and cried when it came out, and I could not have hated it more, but then it _loved_ me. It stopped crying at my breast. It loved me, unconditional, and I realized that baby was innocent. It had nothing with you and me, only love and need. It _needed_ me.” Svetlana stands up straighter, moves her hands to rub at her arms. She looks at Mickey then, really looks at Mickey. “I thought maybe if I got piece of shit husband in check, we could raise Yev right, have him love us on his own choice. Maybe.” She starts shaking again, hands clenched into her own fists. “He belongs to me. You ran away in your hate and I stayed. I stayed. Yevgeny is mine and he belongs—he needs me, now, _Mykhailo_ , I need him right the fuck now!”

“And you think you’re the only one who cares about him?” Mickey demands.

Svetlana starts laughing at that, laugh hollow. “You? You fucking—”

“Yes, I fucking,” Mickey snarls. “You—what? You think if I didn’t care I would have stuck around at this? You think I would have tried?” Mickey clenches his jaw, fighting down the panic rising in him. Yevgeny is gone—Yevgeny is gone because Ian took him, fuck, fuck. “Maybe I don’t love him as much as you do. But I care, Svetlana. I care about Yevgeny, and I fucking care about you too, just like you care about me and Ian, so stop treating me like shit right now! I’m trying to bring everyone home!”

Svetlana shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand. She leans an arm against the couch. “You care about Ian first,” she says like an accusation.

Mickey realizes fighting this won’t solve fucking anything. “Yes,” he capitulates. Svetlana looks up at him, almost triumphant, so Mickey snarls, “Yes, he comes first to me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fucking care about Yevgeny. He’s second to Ian, but I still fucking care.” Mickey sighs, trying to expel the anger in him. “You care about Yevgeny first,” Mickey says. “You care about Yevgeny first and Ian second. I get that, I get _why_ , just like you should understand why Ian comes first to me.”

Svetlana raises her eyebrows at him, looking unimpressed, which makes Mickey know he got her on that one. “Svetlana, we can’t keep doing this,” Mickey says finally, feeling exhaustion hit him like a fucking wave. Like a fucking tsunami. He called Ian and told Ian he’d loved him and he’d dealt with angry, confused Gallaghers and angry, hurt Svetlana for hours. “We can’t always be at each other’s throats,” Mickey continues. “You threaten me with my dad and I threaten you with your job, so you threaten me with Ian and I threaten you with Yevgeny. It doesn’t— _it doesn’t work_ , Svetlana. Every time we are it only hurts the people around us. It just brings destruction. And what happens when Yevgeny gets old enough to recognize that?” Svetlana shifts uncomfortably, arms crossing over her chest, but at least she’s listening. “We want the same thing,” Mickey says. Svetlana opens her mouth to argue, but Mickey cuts her off. “ _We do_. I want Ian home, you want Yevgeny home. They’re together. Yes—yes, Ian took him.” Mickey closes his eyes for a second. Fuck. “But they’re together. We both want them home. We only want the same goal.”

Svetlana stares at Mickey for a heartbeat. “That does not mean—”

“Svetlana, I promise you,” Mickey says, willing to try anything at this point. “I promise you, Yevgeny will be home. I promise.”

Svetlana considers this, biting her bottom lip. “My bed,” she says, forcefully, moving back into Mickey’s face. “With me, where he belongs. _Tonight_.”

She stalks out of the room. The panic walks in, takes up the entire space, like it’s Mickey’s old friend.

-

Mickey has made so many promises. So many fucking promises, and all of them broken, because they’ve all gone away.

He made promises to his mother. Naive, childish promises in a high-pitched voice, usually received with a tiny smile and a fingernail along his cheek. Until finally all those promises were broken with the insert of a needle. Gone.

He made promises to Mandy. Hard, impossible promises in a voice filled with hope and alcohol, usually met with Mandy’s own drunken laugh or hollowed-out eyes that knew what reality was. Until finally those promises were broken, Mickey _failed_ , because his sister was in Indiana and Mickey couldn’t protect her. Gone.

He made promises to Ian. Hopeful, careful promises whispered between the space between their lips and their bodies, usually met with Ian’s small smile or a kiss to Mickey’s lips. Until finally Mickey did something, he always did something, to break it, punches or words or actions, and Ian would fall away from him. Gone.

Mickey promised Ian once, after a bar fight in the Alibi, that he would never leave him.

He’d never once imagined, watching as the nurse took Ian down the hallway into the hospital, that he’d have to let Ian go.

(Gone.)

-

It’s getting closer to 11:30, and Mickey wants to go to sleep—he’s been wanting to go to sleep even since he woke up this morning, ever since reality settled the fuck in—but he knows in his heart that he has to give Yevgeny to Svetlana himself.

Yevgeny is small and warm in his hands, breath barely tickling Mickey’s neck, but healthy, so very, amazingly fine. Yev stopped fussing an hour ago, allowed himself to curl up against the curve of Mickey’s neck, content. His tiny fingers just touch Mickey’s shoulders, baby skin soft and delicate, and yet it’s Mickey that feels fragile. It’s Mickey that feels as though a single movement Yevgeny makes will break him.

Svetlana walks in the door and pauses when she sees them almost immediately (Mickey sat down in the chair in the most direct eye of the door for a reason) and for a moment all Svetlana can do is stare at them. Then she closes the door quietly, turning the lock (a habit she started when Yevgeny was born). Her footsteps are quiet as she tiptoes towards them, and when she reaches for Yevgeny, Mickey’s throat closes up. He’s lost everyone today, everything, and he feels like any other part of his sanity relies on keeping Yevgeny in his arms. But he allows Svetlana to take Yevgeny from his arms, Yevgeny making a small noise of protest at the movement.

The world doesn’t come down, but it still feels like a blow.

Svetlana speaks into Yevgeny’s hair, kisses his forehead and cheeks and presses his tiny chubby fingers to her mouth, and it doesn’t matter that Yevgeny makes annoyed, fussy noises. She smiles at him, speaking to him softly in Russian, and Mickey decides that his kid is gonna be fucking bilingual and there’s no way he can stop it.

Svetlana presses her cheek to Yevgeny’s and then looks at Mickey. There’s something in her expression that’s never been directed at Mickey before, some mix of compassion and hurt. She steps around some junk on the floor and sits down next to Mickey on the couch, rubbing Yevgeny’s back.

“Thank you,” she whispers, voice loud in the quiet night.

Mickey swallows and nods, words failing him in the moment. He eyes Yevgeny for a moment, and it fucking hits him: Yevgeny is the only person he’s never let down. He’s never broken any promises with Yevgeny. And if he’s been hesitant, or if he does break promises, Yevgeny either won’t remember or he’ll forgive Mickey. What had Svetlana said? Yevgeny loves and needs them, unconditionally.

“Is Ian asleep?” Svetlana asks politely. Mickey knows she’s offering out a tiny peace offering, a dove fluttering in the trees, but it hits Mickey’s stomach like a bat.

“I don’t know,” Mickey says, feeling as though every word is forced out of him. “I don’t—fuck, I don’t know, I don’t know.” Mickey looks away from her for a second, scrubbing at his eyes with his palm.

“What is wrong?” Svetlana asks, shifting Yevgeny so that she can face Mickey more fully.

“Ian . . .” Mickey breathes out slowly. “Ian is in the hospital.”

Svetlana does a quick body check on Yevgeny, and then she looks at Mickey, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Yev is not hurt. Ian is?” she asks.

Mickey snorts, shaking his head. “He’s in the hospital. Institutionalized.” _Gone_ , Mickey’s mind supplies.

“Ah.” Svetlana shifts Yevgeny against her. “For his head.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says, glancing at her. “For his head.”

Svetlana becomes quiet, looking back at the door. Mickey can see all the places Ian’s been in this house, can almost feel his presence like he’s still here.

“He will get better,” Svetlana says suddenly, voice quiet and sure. Mickey turns to her, and he’s not quite sure whether he’s supposed to feel thankful for her trying to comfort him, or cynical back at her, or if he’s supposed to feel this numb on the inside.

“Here’s to hoping,” Mickey says, voice dull.

“No,” Svetlana says, voice strong. She stands up then, cradles Yevgeny against her chest and faces Mickey. Mickey scowls at her. “He _will_ get better. I promise you.” And Mickey wants to reach out and warn her about promises, tell her they’re fucked up and doomed from the start, but she continues, “You promise me my Yev will come back. And he’s home.”

“Ian _isn’t_ ,” Mickey says, and somehow that feels like the most important thing of all.

Svetlana straightens, and Mickey wonders if he’s gone too far, hurt her slightly, but all Svetlana says is, “Maybe so. But he will get better in hospital, yes? And he wants to be here. I have never doubted.” Svetlana and Mickey have a small moment of eye contact. She smiles at him gently. “You promise me Yev and he’s here. I promise _you_ now. Ian—he will get better. He will come home.”

Svetlana reaches out and touches Mickey’s shoulder gently, touch almost as light as Yevgeny’s had been. Mickey is surprised that he doesn’t break at the contact.

“Goodnight,” she whispers. “Thank you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> title in reference to Steady, As She Goes by The Raconteurs


End file.
